


Chronomania

by KingOfTheGodComplex



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dreamteam - Fandom, dreamteam SMP
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Claustrophobia, Dream develops attachment to his Clock, Dream is in Prison, Dream's Clock is named Margot, Dream's clock, DreamSMP prison, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Incarcerated Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Margot (Dream's Clock), Pandora's Vault, Personification, Prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfTheGodComplex/pseuds/KingOfTheGodComplex
Summary: A short story about Dream's time in Prison and a personal head-cannon that Dream develops an emotional attachment to the clock he has in his cell. He names the clock and clings to it for comfort. He chooses it over human compassion. He misses his friends.There's a lil bit of Dream Sympathizer blood on the cover, I did that. There's no excuse for his actions but we do empathize with him in this story.Warnings for: Claustrophobia/Feelings of being trapped or stuck. Anxiety/Panic attacks. Emotional Manipulation. Hallucinations.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 102





	Chronomania

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how you feel in my comment section, I'm back on the fanfiction writing train after being off it for about 4-5 years.

Dream looked to Tommy “That’s the one good thing you’ve done..” Tommy was quiet in horror at the massive room that engulfed them after they had travelled down the elevator. “The one good thing you’ve done was bring attachment.” Dream grinned behind a worn, and beaten mask “It took me a long time, right?” he sounded confident, careful, calm “A long time to realize how important attachment was.. But when I did, y’know.. It made me stronger, it helped me, y'know what? Actually, cmon, c’mere, come look at your discs. Your discs are here.”  
Tommy was stood between Dream and Tubbo when they approached the discs, Dream threatened Tubbo’s life so carelessly.  
“Ever since attachment was on the server…?” Dream moved his head more into Tommy’s distracted line of sight, the boy was so busy with the situation at hand, processing that he and his blood-brother were unlikely to leave here alive.  
Tommy’s attention shifted back to Dream “... Yeah?”  
“I cut mine. I.. I blew up my house, I lost my friends, I lost my items, my crossbow, my.. Everything that was important to me, my pets. I cut everything because I realized that’s what gave people power over each other, like the reason right now you’re here is because I have these dumb, little items.”

Dream wasn’t heartless. After all when he’d said those exact words nearly a month or two ago (he had no idea how long he’d been in the prison, he’d made the mistake of forgetting to mark his days) he had won in his mind. Tubbo would die, Tommy would be put to prison, he would be as he wanted once again. Dream was a human, he was just one with a lot of issues: narcissism, was definitely one of them, manipulative tendencies, a lust to be on top, to be in most power, a need for control, if he didn't have control then people wouldn’t do what he wanted. Dream was a human but he was a shitty one, a one with bad morals, one with nothing he could say to excuse his actions.  
Staring at an obsidian wall for hours, possibly days at a time was a good way to file your thoughts, keep track of them, think about what had led to here. When Dream had stated he had cut ties it was in the way of detachment, he still had feelings, he had thoughts about the way he’d left things, why he had done a lot of the things he had, he came to a conclusion as always, the way toxic perfectionists do naturally. Dream still, even subconsciously still had ties, it was human nature after all: to crave life, to chase comfort and force homeostasis.  
Clay was a person and he had wants and needs, he needed food, calories, nutrition, he wanted lamb, wague, cake, and alcohol. He was in prison so he got raw potatoes. People need a reason to live, a goal, a right or wrong way to thrive, rules, Clay wanted to say he was perfectly fine staring at black walls that burnt into his eyes and flipping through empty books. His fixation on the single moving object he was allowed proved his word wrong.  
It had started nearly two weeks into his sentence, Clay had used his first week or so trying to find any faults in the cell, trying to escape, he wasn’t stupid thought and concluded there were none very quickly, he’d spend his time punching blocks, trying to fatigue himself, then he would sleep, exercise. He had a schedule. It was the only way he’d keep a stable head in here after all, he smiled, all the time, he’d smile before bed, he’d say something to himself about getting out every morning. He would keep himself busy and happy. That’s when the obsession with time sprouted, he needed to keep track of himself, make sure he was following his routine.  
Clay found a love for the item, it was pointless though. The clock had to be one of the most useless things he’d seen back before prison, an invention with no worth. If he wanted to know the time he would just look outside. Yet here he was, laid on the ground, admiring it in his hands helplessly, eyes watching the hands tick slowly, he read the time over and over each night until he was soothed to a slumber. Clay would spin it, only when it struck half way, it was a reward and he didn't want to waste the excitement he got from it, wear it out and all.  
He had named the damn thing. Clay wasn’t angry though, he was happy, he had something for comfort, he would hug it sometimes… when he felt a stabbing of anxiety, when he felt trapped. You’ll never get out of here. Clay reached for the clock in it’s frame, shaky hands gripping it to his chest, he closed his eyes, holding his breath so he could feel the ticking and tocking in his bones. He didn't inhale until he felt the feeling subside, he didn't open his eyes again that night and he ended up falling asleep with the item.  
Weeks and weeks ago he would have thrown the item to the magma so he could say hi to Sam. Clay hadn’t had a visitor in weeks, at this point he felt that he had been left alone, unsupervised, to rot, he hadnt seen Sam in nearly two weeks. He hadn’t seen Sapnap or George since he’d gotten put in here. Why would they visit him though? Clay had ended the friendships painfully and harshly “I don’t care about you.” “You’re my bitch Sapnap. I use you, it’s like you don’t understand.” “I made you King because I could control you George. Not because you deserved it.”  
Clay clutched Margot closer, his eyes opening from his sleep upon hearing the sound of redstone, he sat up. A visitor? He looked to his friend, reading her, it was 10:43 am. Almost noon. That’s when it hit him, there’s a visitor.


End file.
